


Cold Nights, Warm Mornings, Hot Artists

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-29
Updated: 2013-11-29
Packaged: 2018-01-02 22:23:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1062330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a prompt on the Les Mis kink meme. Grantaire gets cold at night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Nights, Warm Mornings, Hot Artists

Grantaire slept naked. This was not something that troubled Combeferre. On another point, Grantaire  _abhorred_  the cold; this did not trouble Combeferre either. What did trouble him, or at least, bemuse him, was the fact that Grantaire simultaneously despised the cold of winter and refused to wear pyjamas in bed.

"If you just  _wore_  something-“

"Or you could get into bed and I could be nice and toasty  _without_  wearing something.” Grantaire demanded, and Combeferre let out a long-suffering sigh that still managed to be fond.

”You are ridiculous.” Grantaire made no argument. When Combeferre slid into bed, under a heavy duvet Grantaire insisted upon, the brunet moulded himself to Combeferre’s body, wrapping his arms around the other’s waist and pressing his face firmly against the other’s man’s shoulder. Combeferre pressed a kiss to his nose (and dear God, his nose  _was_  rather cold) and then put another to his forehead. 

Combeferre stroked over the other’s back as Grantaire pressed his freezing feet to Combeferre’s warm calves, pushing up the cloth fabric of his pyjamas to feel the flesh beneath, and Combeferre grumbled about it, pulling Grantaire’s hair and making him groan. “Your feet are cold.”

"And your calves are  _warm.”_  He said plaintively, and Combeferre shook his head as he reached out and turned off the lamp on his bedside table.

He slipped from bed before Grantaire in the morning, turning on the heating. It was warm enough in their cosy little apartment that when Grantaire retreated from the room, a good two hours or so after Combeferre, he wore only the blue shirt that Combeferre been wearing yesterday.

Combeferre smiled, endeared, fond, as he regarded the other man. Grantaire wore his shirts for their scent and for their warmth, so he said, and he always looked so good in them. Perhaps that was a streak of possessiveness on Combeferre’s part, but all the same. 

It was big on Grantaire, who was less broad and a good deal shorter than Combeferre, and the sleeves were too long. Despite this, Combeferre could not focus on the sleeves: no, Combeferre focused on the fabric that just covered Grantaire’s glorious arse, and ceased to cover it at all when Grantaire leaned against the counter to turn on the kettle.

Combeferre was immediately against Grantaire’s back, hands on his hips, pressed firmly against him. Grantaire hummed happily, leaning back into it, but Combeferre caught his hands and pinned them to the counter. “Do you have  _any_  idea how delectable you look in this shirt?” Combeferre asked in a low purr, and Grantaire hummed drowsily.

"Mildly so?"

"Much more than mildly." Combeferre said, thumbing over the back of Grantaire’s right hand as he rolled his hips demonstratively against Grantaire’s, the flannel of his pyjamas soft against the bare skin of Grantaire’s thighs and buttocks. "Do you have any idea what you  _do_  to me, Grantaire?” 

A flush was beginning to develop on the back of Grantaire’s neck - Combeferre’s target to aim for when Grantaire’s blushing cheeks were hidden by his thick, dark hair. 

"What do I do to you?" Grantaire’s voice was low, and Combeferre laughed against his shoulder. He ground his hips forwards again, drawing a little groan from Grantaire’s lips. 

"You distract me, divert me, bewitch me, enchant me." Combeferre released one of Grantaire’s hands to reach beneath him, grasping at his cock and stroking it beneath the loose fabric of his shirt. "You make me incredibly eager to go back to bed when it is only ten AM."

"Is it really that early?"

"Indeed it is. And I am going to  _thoroughly_  ravish you-” The kettle clicked, its light going off. “Once you have finished your coffee.”

"Damn the coffee." Grantaire retorted, and he pulled his other hand out from under Combeferre’s, turning to put both of his arms around the taller man’s neck. "Ravish me now."

"Isn’t it too  _cold_  to be ravished?” Combeferre teased, and Grantaire grinned.

"No, because my sentimental twat of a partner decided to get up at God knows o’clock to put the heating on."

"Sentimental  _twat_  of a partner?” Combeferre repeated, his hands on Grantaire’s hips. “And who might this be? Certainly not  _me_. I only got up to get some work done, eat breakfast, catch the news.”

"And the heating turned itself on, did it?"

"Must have been the gas faeries." Combeferre said sagely, and then he let his hands slide down Grantaire’s body to cup his buttocks, making Grantaire’s laugh become a loud  _moan_  instead. 

"Bed." Grantaire demanded, and Combeferre leaned, nipping at his neck as he undid the buttons on the shirt.

"And what do you want me to do to you in bed?"

"Thoroughly warm me up."

"Do you  _need_  warming up? You’re rather hot already.” Grantaire released an agonized sound.

"Like, three out of ten."

"At least a five." Combeferre defended his line, but Grantaire shook his head, looking gloriously disappointed. He sighed before moving to catch Grantaire’s lips in his, kissing him tenderly, the embrace slow, comfortable, and most of all, warm. "And that?"

"Nine of ten."

"Nine? I must improve."

"You should practise." Grantaire advised in a wise tone, and Combeferre grinned at him before leading him backwards and towards the bedroom. 

"I’ll have to, won’t I?"


End file.
